


we ain't rich but we worth a lot

by alexanger



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:53:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: Special is not the word Aaron would use to describe the bright-eyed boy standing at the front of the campus tour group.It’s a good thing none of the little tour rats ever wind up sticking around. Aaron would have loathed him.[5k giveaway prize][title]





	we ain't rich but we worth a lot

Their eyes meet for the first time on campus. Aaron is on his way to his anthropology class, and a whole bunch of fresh meat has just arrived for a tour. He finds himself lagging behind his friends - or, more accurately, the people with which he has a mutual tolerance - to scope out the group. They’re never really anything special, and it’s rare to see more than one or two faces from the tour on campus come the start of the term, but every so often you see something special.

Special is not the word Aaron would use to describe the bright-eyed boy standing at the front of the group. He seems to hang on every word the tour guide says, but not in any way that might be called flattering - rather, it seems like he’s seeking words to pick out and argue, and the poor guide looks exhausted.

Aaron has given enough tours to know exactly the kind of anguish the guide must be in. He casts what he hopes is a sympathetic glance in the guide’s direction and hurries away to anthropology, where he can look forward to a solid three hours and fifty minutes of nap time.

Nap time, however, doesn’t come. He finds himself coming back, again and again, to the bright-eyed boy, to the way his clothes seemed to hang off him, stretched and worn and ill-fitting. There was a fire in those eyes visible the second Aaron turned to look and now, when he closes his eyes and rests his chin on his hand, he can see it burning behind his eyelids.

It’s a good thing none of the little tour rats ever wind up sticking around. Aaron would have  _ loathed _ him.

 

* * *

 

Aaron’s student ID has expired.

He drags himself to campus early in order to enjoy standing in a long line for several hours, surrounded by babbling freshmen with their hopeful faces and their pristine backpacks. He almost pities them and their gentle tender hearts. They’re going to be eaten alive.

The boy in front of him, the one in an obnoxious, ill-fitting, second hand suit - the boy in front of him in line turns around and says, “hey, how’s it going?”

Aaron startles. There are the fiery eyes he remembers from last semester, the obnoxious boy from the tour group a thousand lifetimes ago, when he had substantially more will to live than he does now.

He debates not answering - how else will the little shit learn how to behave on campus? - but his tongue runs away from him and before he can stop himself, he says, “hey.”

The bright-eyed boy waits a moment, evidently expecting more, and then says, “I’m Alexander. What’s your name?”

“No thanks,” says Aaron.

That seems to throw Alexander. “No thanks?” he asks.

“No thanks,” Aaron repeats, and it was a fuck up the first time but now he’s determined to roll with it. He squashes down the embarrassment gnawing in his belly and continues, “I don’t do small talk.”

“Oh! In that case -” Alexander starts, but Aaron cuts through.

“I don’t do big talk either. In fact, I don’t like talking at all.”

“That’s fine,” says Alexander. “I understand.”

“Good -”

“I know some people are much fonder of listening than of talking so I can take care of the talking and you can take care of the listening, and then we’ll both be happy. It looks like we have a few hours here to kill and I know I’d much rather be having a good conversation than just standing around with nothing to do!”

Aaron considers putting his earbuds in, and then realizes that probably wouldn’t do a thing to deter Alexander’s mouth from running.

“I’m here for pre-law and I checked out all the requirements - really all I need is a bachelor’s, and then I can go straight from that into the law school  _ here,  _ which is just amazing! I won’t have to move at all! Of course it’s going to be expensive but if I keep up my grades and keep getting my scholarships -”

Aaron snorts at the thought of this motor mouthed fetus keeping up his grades enough to earn a ride all the way through college.  
“Gesundheit,” Alexander says innocently. “It’s dusty in here, isn’t it? Anyway, where are you from? I’m an international student - well, I lived up here with my cousin for high school, but -” His lips draw thin and his eyes flash with something that looks like deep distress, and he continues, “anyway, I’m on a student visa and I’m applying for permanent residence and then I’ll look at citizenship - and like, if I have to marry in, that’s fine, I’m happy to do that - but getting my J.S.D. will help my chances immensely.”

Aaron is struggling to follow the thread of the conversation. He manages to muddle out enough to ask, “what do you mean, where am I from? I’m from right here.”

“No, but like, originally,” says Alexander.

Aaron’s eyebrows soar up so far they nearly leave his face. “I was  _ born here, _ in America,” he snaps. “If you wanna get  _ really  _ specific -”

“Oh, shit, no, not that! No, I mean, like, what high school? It’s your first year too, right?”

Nothing Alexander says makes this any less confusing. “It’s my third year,” Aaron says.

Alexander whistles. “No way. We’re like, the same age.”

“Probably not. I’m eighteen.”

“No way,” Alexander says again. “When did you graduate high school?”

“Do the math. Three years ago.” Aaron wonders again if it’s worth putting in his earbuds; Alexander is staring at him now, open mouthed.

“What did your parents say? They must have been super pumped,” is the next aural trash jumble that falls out of his mouth dumpster.

Just like that, Aaron realizes his ID can wait.

“I have class,” he says, and he ducks out of line.

And he does  _ not _ glance back at Alexander as he goes.

 

* * *

 

Winter term rolls around, and with it, a whole new list of reasons to kickflip straight into the grave. When Aaron walks into his first Ethics class of the semester and sees Alexander sitting down in the first row of the lecture theatre, he nearly turns around and walks right the fuck out again.

Instead, he sits at the back of the room, almost exactly behind Alexander. He’s far away but this way he can keep Alexander within his line of sight.

Usually he doodles or naps his way through class - he does better teaching himself the material from the slides and syllabus, and he’d never show up if it weren’t for those profs that demand attendance - but he’s glad, for the first time, that he’s present during a rousing class discussion. Often, the first day of class is just a discussion of the syllabus and marking expectations, but Alexander manages to attach his focus to the brief mention that one of the class units will be on theory of values, and from there, start a screaming match.

To be fair, it doesn’t begin as a screaming match. It starts as Alexander asking exactly what constitutes goodness and badness, and within minutes he’s displaying a remarkable example of black-and-white thinking and screeching at a classmate, “don’t you mansplain to me!”

“Dude,” said classmate says, with the haughty air of one deeply wounded, and Aaron chuckles audibly.

He hasn’t done that in a very long time.

Alexander stands when he argues. Alexander waves his hands and rocks on his feet and he comes alive, vibrant, a being of light and passion.

_ When _ he argues. That’s like saying when he breathes, or when his heart beats.

Aaron wonders idly what it is to be that alive, to be that visceral, pumping blood and straining muscle and voice, voice born of passion and confidence.

He also wonders what it would be like to be so incredibly fucking  _ annoying. _

Aaron knows the  _ “dude” _ student. They’ve shared a few classes in the past; he’s a pretty relaxed guy, though he doesn’t look like it. He’s built like a brick shithouse and twice as durable. He looks like the kind of guy who could hurl you across campus without any kind of effort, and of  _ course  _ a guy like that would have a ridiculous name. It’s a name Aaron can’t quite remember at present but it’s definitely something from a Disney movie. Gaston? Kronk? Bambi? Who knows. Something absurd.

He braces himself for Kronk to throw a punch, but he seems to have far more patience than Aaron expected, because he settles the argument by pulling his hat off his head, squaring his shoulders, and saying, “dude, chill out. Take a breath. My tea is getting cold.”

“Oh,” says Alexander. “Well, yeah, okay. Makes sense. We can finish this argument later.”

“Deal,” says Kronk, and he and Alexander shake hands and go back to their respective seats.

The prof looks absolutely stunned.

_ Me too, buddy, _ Aaron thinks, and he nearly laughs out loud.

 

* * *

 

The next time Aaron sees Alexander on campus, he’s suddenly Kronk’s shadow. Kronk has a little posse - he hangs out with a gentleman who could feasibly work part-time as a giraffe and a scrappy, freckled string bean with far too many curls and what looks like a chronic black eye. The latest addition to the edgy rebel squad seems to be Alexander, still in his ill-fitting clothes, although he’s admittedly far better dressed these days. Kronk must be a good influence on him.

Well - 

Aaron takes another look at them, the way they stand, the way they look at each other, and realizes with something almost like admiration that Alexander seems to be the centre. He’s talking a mile a minute and gesturing wildly and String Bean appears to hang on every word. Aaron knows that puppy face. He’s  _ made _ that puppy face. It’s almost endearing.

He wonders idly what it would be like to be part of that little gang. Would he ever be able to fit a word in edgewise, or would he simply listen, revelling in the breakneck pace of Alexander’s rambling?

It doesn’t make sense - he  _ hates  _ Alexander, hates his inane chatter, hates every fucking word that breezes past his obnoxious lips, and yet he wants desperately for Alexander to approve of him. He has a deep, gnawing craving for a single word of praise from that perpetually running mouth.

Alexander must talk in his sleep. Alexander must  _ argue  _ in his sleep.

Aaron realizes he’s been staring when Kronk waves at him. He spends a moment wondering if he can feasibly walk away now, or if it’s too late.

Before he can really think it through, he finds his feet carrying him towards the little posse. Alexander grins, the giraffe tosses his head amiably, and the string bean looks him up and down, clicks his tongue against his teeth, and says, “ooh. Hey.”

“You’re in my ethics class,” Kronk says. His voice is a low rumble. “I don’t remember your name, though. Maybe you just haven’t told me.”

“Aaron,” Aaron tells him. “And you’re -”

Shit. He doesn’t know.

Kronk is looking at him expectantly. There’s the barest hint of an affable smile on his lips.

“- Bambi,” Aaron finishes hopefully.

Kronk bursts into thunderous laughter, String Bean looks incredulous, and Giraffe nearly chokes giggling. Alexander seems stunned.

“That’s a new one,” Alexander finally manages.

“I love it. Nickname accepted,” says Kronk (Bambi?).

“He’s Hercules,” Giraffe manages to wheeze through the giggles.

Hercules. Of course.

“John,” says String Bean.

“Gil,” says Giraffe (and at least it’s the same first letter?).

“And you know me,” says Alexander. He throws an arm around Aaron’s shoulder - Aaron notices, with some satisfaction, that he has to stand on his toes to do it - and says, “we go all the way back to the student ID line. Ah, memories. Those were such innocent days. Wanna come for a beer?”

“No,” says Aaron, shrugging Alexander’s arm off, and he barely remembers to add, “but thank you for the invitation.”

John squints at him. He opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Alexander cuts in with, “okay, well, next time, then. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Hey, if I get a nickname, we should nickname him too,” Aaron can hear Hercules saying as he walks away.

“How about Jiminy Cricket?” says John.

“‘Cause he’s small and cute?” That’s Gil, gravelly voice and smooth French accent.

“No,” says John, “‘cause he’s tiny, annoying, and forgettable.”

He isn’t sure - he’s nearly out of earshot - but Aaron thinks he hears Alexander laugh, and that’s the part that  _ really  _ stings.

 

* * *

 

Alexander greets him outside the door of the lecture hall before their next ethics class. “Hey,” he says, and he pauses a moment before adding, “we’ve decided we’re calling you Stitch from now on. Everyone gets a Disney name.”

Aaron feels a soft ache in his chest, something that almost feels like affection and gratitude. It’s not Jiminy Cricket, and that probably says something. “Who came up with that one?” he asks.

“Uh - well, me,” Alexander says. “You’re kinda prickly but I bet you’re soft inside. I know it’s hard to feel like you’re the only person like you, right? So no wonder you’re all grouchy and quiet all the time. Just means you need some kindness.”

Aaron pretends not to hear all that. Instead, he asks, “so what nickname did you get?”

“Tramp,” Alexander says, and he laughs.

Aaron risks a chuckle too. “Kinda looks like it fits you,” he says.

Just like that, Alexander stops laughing - just for a moment, and then he’s giggling again, but something’s changed.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah.”

“I didn’t mean to -” Aaron starts, but Alexander cuts him off.

“No, it’s chill, you’re right. Like, I look all scruffy and shitty - definitely look like a street kid or whatever -” His voice is higher pitched, suddenly, and he refuses to meet Aaron’s eye. “It’s, like - it’s not like clothes are really that affordable - it’s not a big deal, though, like, nothing to complain about. It’s just a nickname. Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says.

“Yeah, okay,” says Alexander.

They stand in awkward silence for a moment. Alexander is the first to break it; he reaches out, opens the door to the lecture hall, and says, “I’ll see you in there, Stitch.”

It stings, now, hearing that nickname. It’s a mockery. If Aaron had been anyone else, that nickname would have been an invitation, it would have been forgiveness; but because he  _ is  _ him, because he’s tiny and young and awkward and undesirable, Alexander must be throwing it in his face. It’s a cruel taunt, a reminder that Alexander has friends and he  _ doesn’t  _ and he never has and he never will. He won’t ever have friends. Doesn’t deserve them. Whatever.

Alexander is gone and Aaron is taking a breath and fighting back tears all of a sudden. He checks himself, sniffles, scrubs his sleeve across his eyes, and tries to centre himself. It’s not as if he even  _ liked  _ Alexander in the first place. It’s not as if he’s losing anything. He’s been tolerating the asshole this entire time and there wasn’t ever supposed to be anything more between them; at least they both know where they stand now.

Stitch. Awful. Figures they’d name him after the alien.

He does what he promised himself he wouldn’t ever do.

He skips lecture because of Alexander.

 

* * *

 

Still, though - maybe it means something that Alexander picked that name. Maybe it means something that he said no to Jiminy Cricket and made the edgy rebel squad choose something else.

Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it’s just them making fun of him in a different way.

And if that’s how they’re going to play it, he can be nasty too.

Doesn’t matter. Not important. He never belonged anyway.

 

* * *

 

He avoids Alexander, but he sees him everywhere anyway - he sees Alexander in the dining hall with the edgy rebel squad, or tossing pebbles idly into the fountain between the C building and the library, or laughing with Hercules in the hallway near the lecture hall their ethics class is in. He smiles, sometimes, if he  _ has  _ to walk by Alexander, but he doesn’t make any effort to talk. Alexander seems to be on the same page, at least. They don’t chat. They don’t say hello. They just smile, that bland little half-smile that says  _ I tolerate your existence, _ maybe wave, and move on.

It’s clear Alexander has no interest in speaking to him. Sometimes, Aaron wonders idly what it might be like to be part of the edgy rebel squad, but none of his imaginings end well. He always just winds up thinking about how Hercules will laugh at him again, or how John the string bean seems to hate him, and then all he can see happening is being systematically shunned. And that’s worse than no friends - to have friends, for once, and then to lose them and be alone again. Easier not to take the risk. 

It had felt almost like they were approaching friendship. It had felt almost like, perhaps, they could learn to really understand each other; it had almost felt like, even if they didn’t see eye to eye, at least they’d be able to talk. They didn’t need to like each other, just to _get_ each other on some basic, fundamental level. But even that seems to be ruined, because Alexander never meets his eyes.

So - half-smile, nod, wave. Acknowledge each other’s existence and nothing more.

That is, until Alexander corners him one day outside the Starbucks in the library and says, “so you’ve been avoiding me.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks, desperately looking for a way to sneak by Alexander and scuttle away. He’s been backed right up against the wall, holding his macchiato out in front of him like a shield. For a moment he has the absurd impulse to toss his coffee at Alexander and sprint away, but he has the good sense to realize that will just make Alexander damp, sticky, and disgruntled.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Alexander says. “You barely even look at me anymore. You don’t talk to me. What’s going on, Stitch?”

“I didn’t talk to you much in the first place,” Aaron says.

“Okay, yeah, no, that’s fair. You didn’t. But like - you were less, you know, angry. You just seem pissed at me and I don’t know what I did -” Alex pauses and jams his hands in his pockets. “Like, I was trying to include you and you just keep - running away. You’re really evasive, man, you know that? Just come chill with us. Come grab a beer or watch a shitty movie with us. Like, fuck. Do it for my sake if nothing else.”

Aaron breathes out hard through his nose and asks, “are you gonna let me go if I say I’ll come?”

“I - yeah. Yeah.” Alexander grins from ear to ear. “Dude, gimme your phone, I’ll put Herc’s number in.”

“You don’t have one?” Aaron asks.

“Nah,” says Alex, “too expensive. I don’t like contracts and just buying a phone without one is kinda - ridiculous - hold on, how do you add numbers - your phone sucks, man, it’s so complicated. Nope, figured it out, I’m good,” he adds, as Aaron reaches out to take it back. “Anyway, one day I’ll have a phone, but right now if you just text Herc it should be fine. Figured it out, I’m done with your brick.”

“You know, I have an old phone,” Aaron says.

“That’s … great,” Alex tells him. He hands back Aaron’s phone.

“I mean, like - if you want it, you can have it. It’s just gathering dust in my desk. Still works pretty well,” says Aaron.

“No kidding? Cool. Thanks, Stitch. Text Herc and if you wanna bring it when we hang out, that’d be really cool of you.” Alex slaps him gently on the shoulder. “See you soon, okay? Like, actually text him. We do movie nights every Saturday.”

“Yeah,” Aaron says. “Okay. See you this Saturday maybe.”

“I’d better see you,” Alex says. He winks and suddenly he’s gone, blending into the stampede of students rushing by.

Aaron takes a deep breath. His shoulder feels warm.

 

* * *

 

Alex has entered Hercules into Aaron’s phone as  _ Bambilicious. _

Aaron smiles when he sees it, and he allows the smile to stay for a moment before wiping it off his face.

 

* * *

 

Friday comes faster than Aaron expected. He spends the entire day agonizing over whether or not to hang out with the edgy rebel squad, and finally texts Hercules at 11 PM.

_ Can I join you guys for movie night  _ he types, and then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and hits send.

It takes approximately half a second for Hercules to send a series of half a dozen texts:

_ YEAH MAN tramp said youd be texting me and we had this bet that you wouldnt _

_ its cool though im glad you did _

_ were watching birdemic tomorrow _

_ also dude this is so sick flynn owes me $10 _

_ oh lmao flynn is j laur because hes a pretty piece of shit _

_ anyway well meet you by the dining hall at like 5 ok we get food and bring it back to flynns place and he has a HUGE GODDAMN TV the birds are gonna look so shitty in hd lmao see u then stitch xoxo _

Aaron can barely keep up with the texts flooding in. He waits a moment after the final text, afraid there’ll be more, but it seems to be over. It takes him a moment to gather his nerves enough to reply,  _ Cool. See you there. _

His phone vibrates violently as another flood of texts arrives.

_ ok cool tramps got something for you or whatever its pretty cool but im not gonna tell you what it is _

_ if you ask me ill cave so dont ask me _

_ hey if you wanna bring beer i wont say no _

_ but if you dont its cool no sweat i can cover you _

_ anyway have a good night my dude!!! GET PUMPED _

It feels almost like friendship and maybe that’s okay. Aaron allows himself to feel warm and important for just a moment before he turns the vibration off on his phone and tosses it to the end of his futon.

Anxiety claws at him from the inside as he goes back to hibernating and half-watching The Office, but he forces it down.

Maybe he’ll actually have a good time. Maybe.

 

* * *

 

Aaron is cold and he feels ridiculous standing by himself outside the dining hall. He doesn’t like to overdress, and he was worried he’d look too out of place, so he went simple - jeans and a sweatshirt - but it’s unusually chilly out and he’s already regretting it.

“Stitch,” says a familiar voice, and Aaron turns to see the edgy rebel squad approaching. Alex is waving at him, mouth open to say yet  _ more  _ words, and Aaron smiles before he can help himself.

“Tramp,” he says amiably, cutting Alex off. He’s barely holding back a shiver.

John laughs at him, but something in Alex’s face changes. He takes off his oversized hoodie and drapes it around Aaron’s shoulders.

“I don’t need this,” Aaron starts to protest, but Alex just grins and shakes his head.

“Nah. You look like you’re freezing. It’s not a long walk.”

Hercules and Gil lead the way and John tags behind with Alex and Aaron. At first, Alex seems perfectly fine; but before long his teeth are chattering and he’s shaking with the cold.

“You can have your hoodie back,” Aaron says.

“You need it more. I’m fine,” Alex says.

“Just share it, dude,” John mutters, and he snickers a little to himself.

Alex seems to ponder that over for a moment. “Do you mind?” he asks Aaron finally. His voice is small.

Aaron is a little surprised but he manages to choke out, “no, it’s fine.”

“Cool.” And then Alex is beside him, wriggling under his arm, and the hoodie is huge but it’s still just a hoodie and they have to get incredibly close to each other in order to share. Alex is warm and puppy soft against his side and soon Aaron is overheating a little, perspiration beading on his palms and his upper lip, but he can endure. He doesn’t quite know why the thought of moving away makes him so anxious.

“So … what’s Birdemic about?” he says. His voice sounds far too loud in his own ears.

“Oh, dude - oh man, you haven’t heard of it?” Alexander is practically vibrating. “So, it’s like … okay, so you know The Room? It’s kinda like that, you know, like, how Tommy Wiseau wrote it and directed it and produced it and starred in it, except the guy who wrote it, James Nguyen, is an even  _ worse  _ writer, and the special effects are, like, the worst thing you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“Also James Nguyen doesn’t act in it,” John says.

“No, man, he totally plays the lead -”

“No he doesn’t. The lead is Alan something. Starts with a B -”

“It’s definitely James Nguyen, I bet you like $50,” says Alexander.

“Tramp, come on,” John says. “You’ve never seen fifty bucks in your life. Don’t throw away your pennies. You’re gonna lose this bet.”

“It’s Alan Bagh,” Hercules says, turning around to face them. He walks backward without bothering to slow his pace at all, and Aaron notices Gil turning his head to watch Hercules’s path. “Trust me. I’ve seen the movie at least three thousand times. Maybe more. James Nguyen is some random guy looking at a menu in one shot, though. I’ll point him out.”

“Told you,” says John. Alexander pouts.

“You’re mean to me. Stitch, help me out here. Kiss it better.”

Aaron splutters with disbelief. “Do what?” he squeaks.

“My feelings,” Alexander says. “Kiss them better.”

“I’m not -”

“You’re making him uncomfortable,” John says.

“Are you, like - are you not cool with, you know, queer folks?” Alexander says. “Cause man, I’m bi, and like - that’s a pretty big part of my identity - like you gotta be cool with that if we’re gonna hang out -”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” Aaron says. 

“Cause I mean, if you’re not fine with it then whatever, but it’s who I am, so -”

“No, I get it. I mean, like -” Aaron fumbles for a moment, struggling to speak, and then manages, “I get it. Like, I  _ know. _ I understand. I’m cool with it.”

“Cool,” Alexander says, and Aaron wonders if what he said was clear enough. Does it count as coming out, he wonders, if he doesn’t actually name what he is?

It’s fine, though - the conversation is already moving on. John is droning on and on about the terrible CGI birds and the infamous coat hanger scene - and Aaron supposes he’ll understand once he sees it, but for now it’s all nonsense - and there just doesn’t seem to be space to backtrack and go,  _ hey, actually, Alex my palex, I’m bisexual too, just thought you’d like to know because maybe we aren’t so different and maybe I’d like to be a little like you because you’re perfect - _

That’s dangerous, that line of thinking. Aaron pushes it away and contemplates shrugging out of the hoodie and walking a little further away from Alexander.

In the end, he stays. But, he tries to convince himself, it’s  _ only  _ for the warmth. That’s all.

Aaron was wrong. He sees the terrible CGI birds and the coat hangers, and he  _ still  _ doesn’t understand.

“Why would they use coat hangers as weapons?” Aaron says. “Against birds?”

He’s been talking the whole movie. Alexander is practically in his lap, and he shushes Aaron every so often. Aaron’s heart has been practically exploding because of how he does it - Alexander turns his head against Aaron’s chest, his lips almost against the side of his neck, and murmurs, “Stitch,  _ hush.  _ Watch the movie.”

So maybe he’s been talking a little more than he usually would have. Who can blame him? Alex smells good and his breath is warm and when his hair moves it sends up the scent of strawberries.

“It doesn’t make any sense, though,” Aaron complains, and he takes a breath to keep talking and suddenly Alex shifts forward and kisses him.

His lips are soft.

Then Aaron’s brain catches up and he jerks backward, shoves Alex off of him, practically jumps off of the couch and leaves John’s apartment.

He can’t get past the door. Aaron stands outside in the hallway and his knees are weak and shaky, and he takes a deep breath and then sinks down against the wall. The elevator is so close, and it isn’t a terribly long walk home, but it’s cold outside and his chest hurts at the thought of going any further. Before he knows it, he’s crying.

The door next to him opens and then Alexander is there, crouching in front of him. “Hey,” he says, but Aaron grimaces.

“Don’t,” he grunts.

“I just want to see if you’re okay - I know that was shitty, but like, I think you’re overreacting -”

“You can’t just  _ do  _ that, Alexander!” Aaron says. To his horror, tears are streaming unchecked down his face and his voice is breaking. “Like, don’t just - don’t just make me feel gross -”

“Gross?” Alexander says. “What the fuck do you mean, gross? It’s  _ gross  _ to have a guy kiss you? I thought you said you were  _ cool  _ with things, man - if you aren’t into it that’s fine but don’t act like I kicked your dog or whatever -”

“I’m not a joke!” Aaron says. “And I’m not okay with you kissing me if it’s not for real -”

“Wait,” says Alex.

“Like, I get that it’s funny or whatever but it isn’t okay to get my hopes up like that!”

“Wait,” says Alex.

“It’s just a shitty thing to do, Alexander, and I can’t believe you’d do that -”

“You think it was a joke?” Alexander asks.

Aaron sniffles and scrubs his sleeve over his eyes. “What else could it be?” he asks, but his voice is soft and hesitant now.

“Well, maybe it could be because I like you,” Alexander says.

Aaron takes a breath, opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and breathes out hard through his nose until he realize that that makes it run. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and manages, “do you mean it?”

“Yeah,” says Alexander. “But, I mean, I get it if you’re not into it. Or me. Or, you know, dudes in general. I should have asked, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m not gonna make excuses or anything. I’m just going to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s … okay,” Aaron says.

“Yeah? Can you forgive me?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I hug you?”

Aaron doesn’t say anything. He just nods, and then Alexander is awkwardly leaning over Aaron’s knees and hugging him. There’s that smell of strawberries again, the soft silky texture of his hair, something spicy with a hint of pine when Aaron tucks his face against the crook of Alexander’s neck.

“I didn’t - you know - I didn’t hate it,” Aaron whispers.

“Yeah?” Alexander’s voice is hesitant and soft.

Nervousness flutters like a trapped animal inside of Aaron’s ribs, and he manages to breath, “Yeah. I kinda - liked it.”

So Alexander pulls back and puts a hand against Aaron’s cheek and murmurs, “Aaron, can I kiss you?”

Aaron nods and then Alexander’s lips are on his again, and for a split second it takes his breath away. He doesn’t quite know what to do - he’s never really been kissed before and he doesn’t know where his hands go or how to kiss back, but then Alexander shifts and tilts his head and Aaron presses back into the kiss and settles his hands on Alex’s hips and everything clicks into place.

When they pull away, Alex’s eyes are half-lidded and heavy.

“You wanna come back in?” Alex asks.

“No,” Aaron says. “I kinda wanna go home - but, um, if you wanna hang out or anything …”

“Yeah - I’d love to, let me just get my hoodie?”

“Mmhm.”

Alex stands, presses a kiss to the top of Aaron’s head, and then disappears back inside the apartment. He doesn’t take terribly long but every second aches, now that Aaron actually understands what’s happening.

Then Alex is back and he offers Aaron a hand to help him up. “It’s probably even colder out, so, you know, we should cuddle up in my hoodie,” he says. “Build up our warmth. That way we’re ready to go outside.”

“Smart,” Aaron says.

They wriggle into the hoodie together and manage to get into the elevator without knocking each other over, and the ride down is uneventful - just silence and sweetness as Alex presses his face against Aaron’s neck and heaves a contented sigh.

“By the way,” he murmurs. “If you still wanna give me your old phone -”

“Oh, yeah, it’s in my pocket,” says Aaron.

“I can’t pay you or anything, but I did bring something for you.”

Alex presses a scrap of fabric into Aaron’s hand. Aaron looks at it and his breath catches, just for a moment. It’s a little embroidered patch - it’s Stitch, grinning, surrounded by hibiscus flowers.

“Where did you get this?” Aaron asks.

“I made it,” Alex says, and he grins. “It’s not money but it’s something, at least.”

Aaron can’t help kissing Alex firmly on the lips.

 

* * *

 

They tumble onto the futon together and for long moments there’s nothing but Alex’s lip against Aaron’s cheeks, his forehead, his palms, every so often on his lips. Alex’s hands swirl over his back in long, slow sweeps. Alex leans over him and the curtains of his raven hair cascade past Aaron’s face, and for a little while it’s just the two of them together in the closeness.

They don’t sleep. They drink far too much coffee and Alex talks and Aaron listens, laughing or sighing or shaking his head. They pause every so often to stare at each other in wonderment. Aaron slowly learns the way Alex likes to be kissed and touched and held. It's soft, innocent, in a way Aaron couldn't have expected - he lends Alex a pair of his sweatpants and they just sit together in the half-light, learning the way their hands fit together.

By 4 AM they’ve resigned themselves to the idea that they just won’t be getting any rest, but they keep dozing off against each other watching episode after episode of Chopped on Aaron’s laptop.

“Another pot of coffee?” Aaron asks as the clock on the wall crawls through the minutes.

“Mm. Please,” Alex says, stifling a huge yawn.

Aaron waits until Alex’s mouth is closed and then pulls him close and kisses his lips soundly.

“What’s that for?” Alex mumbles against Aaron’s lips.

“Cause I can,” Aaron mumbles back.

The coffee can wait a few minutes. This is more important.

 

* * *

 

Alex grunts and shifts awake around 6 AM. His head is in Aaron’s lap.

“I fell asleep,” he breathes.

Aaron runs his fingers through Alex’s hair. “Yeah,” he says.

“I don’t like missing any time with you,” Alex says.

Aaron’s heart jumps. He grins and bends over and presses his face against Alex’s.

“Sleep, Alex,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better,” says Alex. He closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Aaron walks through the door of the lecture hall. He thinks about his first ethics class of the semester, about sitting in the back and watching Hercules and Alex argue for the first time.

As he walks down the stairs to the front of the room, he passes by Herc, who raises his hand for a high five. Aaron feels himself smiling.

“See you Saturday, Stitch,” Hercules says.

“You know it, Bambi,” Aaron tells him, and he slaps Herc’s hand and continues down the steps.

Alex is there in the front row with one hand on the chair beside him and two cups of coffee. He grins and moves his hand to let Aaron sit. Aaron slings his bag down off his shoulder and onto the floor by his feet, accepts his coffee, and takes Alex’s hand.

“Hey,” says Alex.

“Hey,” says Aaron.

Alex squeezes his hand, and Aaron thinks about the distance he maintained so carefully for so long. He wonders how much sooner he would have had this if he’d just let his walls down a little.

Alex bumps his head against Aaron’s shoulder.

The regrets aren’t important, because here he is, here they are, and this is real now. This is what matters.

He kisses the top of Alex’s head and settles in his seat, and he smiles, a broad, genuine smile.

Smiling is so easy now.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos give me a warm hoodie to share. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com) and consider [buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A02514GB)


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